Too Close For Comfort
by Sarah Kennedy
Summary: Right at the start of KKBB/2x01, Jack shoots the blowfish. Except this time he missed. Rated T to be on the safe side.


Ianto tried not to let the blowfish's words get to him, but to be honest with himself they were. He thought he had the shot but he couldn't be sure… and what if he did hit the girl? Damn, what was wrong with him? Some alien making him doubt himself – he really didn't need that right now. He shifted right just a fraction, trying to get his aim clear of the girl –

A shot rang out.

Ianto yelled in pain as the bullet sliced into his shoulder. The gun dropped from his hand and he clutched at the wound, trying to get pressure on it. Everybody was yelling something incoherent and Ianto thought he was the only one who noticed the blowfish shove the girl aside and jump out through the window. He snatched up his gun in his left hand, unable to trust the right arm, what with a bullet somewhere in it and all, and spun around to try and find his attacker.

Jack.

Ianto almost dropped his gun again. Jack – just standing there with his arm outstretched, as though frozen in the moment he'd fired. A deathly hush fell over the room.

"What have you done?" Trust Gwen to break the silence first. She grabbed something from Owen's bag and ran over to Ianto, pulling his hand away and replacing it with a large square bandage. Of course, the fact that it was over his jacket meant it didn't help much.

"I – he – you weren't supposed to move!" Not exactly what Ianto had hoped Jack's first words would be to him after his absence. Something along the lines of 'I missed you', perhaps – or if that was too much to ask, even 'hello' would have been nice. Better than being shot.

"Well, it might have been nice if you'd told me that," Ianto snapped.

"Would you believe that nobody got shot while you were away?" Gwen asked. Ianto couldn't exactly pin down her tone – halfway between deadly furious and mildly amused. Nice to see somebody taking it so lightly. "And then you're back for two seconds and Ianto gets shot!"

"By you," added Tosh. She, at least, was definitely angry.

"Where'd it go?" Owen shouted, still working on the man on the floor. "The fish – where the hell's it gone?"

A squeal of tyres from outside answered that question fairly neatly. Gwen and Tosh disappeared, and the sound of the SUV's engine came a few seconds later. Ianto seriously doubted his ability to stay on his feet much longer; his head was spinning and he felt decidedly off-colour.

"Okay, Ianto, it's pretty shallow," said Owen from behind him. Ianto could feel the medic's rubber-clad fingers probing his shoulder and couldn't restrain himself from calling Owen something rather uncomplimentary. "Came in through the back and out again here. Nice and easy, just a flesh wound. Come here – sit down." Ianto was perfectly glad to follow that advice, letting his gun slid from his fingers as he sank down into one of the couches. Owen pulled Ianto's jacket and shirt off to get a better look. Great – now he'd been shot _and_ he was cold. He glanced down to his jacket; Owen had dropped it on the floor. You couldn't mend holes that size, and blood stained like a bitch. Shame. He'd really liked that one.

He looked up to see Jack still standing in the corner like a lemon. At least he'd put his gun away. Jack looked genuinely upset but Ianto was genuinely angry, and not willing to forgive him yet.

"Yeah, I can fix this," Owen said.

"Good." Jack had finally come out of his corner and now sat down on the couch next to Ianto. Ianto just ignored him. He knew Jack was upset and hadn't meant to shoot him, but it still didn't change the burning agony in his shoulder. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread over the pain as Owen shot a painkiller into his arm. He barely felt the pressure bandage being wrapped around the wound or Jack tenderly laying the ruined jacket around him.

"I'll call a taxi," Owen muttered, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and moving some distance away. Jack took Ianto's hand.

"I'm sorry, Ianto… I didn't mean…"

"I know," said Ianto, pulling his hand out of Jack's. He let it drop to the couch, leaning back as the combination of blood loss and painkillers went to his head. Everything was going faintly blurry, and he felt hungry. Odd thing to feel after getting shot, hungry… perhaps some pizza was in order.

"Okay, taxi'll be here in a minute," said Owen, wrapping his arm under Ianto's shoulders and pulling him to his feet. The height difference didn't help much. They went outside and stood there waiting, awkwardly saying nothing, until the taxi arrived.

"The Plas," said Jack tersely to the driver. Owen helped Ianto into the back seat and sat down next to him. Jack climbed in after them and shut the door. Ianto still felt crappier than he ever had in his life, apart from that party he'd gone to when he was seventeen and had gotten really drunk – _really _drunk – for the first time. He hadn't even wanted to go. It was Megan's idea. And she'd dumped him afterwards.

"Ianto…" Jack tried again. Ianto ignored him. He figured getting shot was an occupational hazard when one worked for Torchwood; but it was usually by the hostile aliens and not by your boss. He felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered shooting Owen not so long ago, and Owen had shot Jack too. Killed him, actually. Ianto supposed that in some ironic way it was his turn. He mentioned this, not entirely sure why he did; some part of him didn't want to be angry with Jack for very long. And it was a very large part. Jack snickered and Owen muttered, "Sort of hoped nobody would mention that killing bit," and shuffled away from Jack as much as he could. Ianto felt better somehow, as though it had been resolved. It was a mistake and maybe it was karma or something. He wondered if that thought was actually real or if it was the drugs doing things to his head.

The driver watched the three men get out of his cab and walk over to the centre of the Plas. He very carefully hadn't commented on the fact that one of them was shot, and half-naked. And he hadn't missed that conversation about all of them shooting each other either. The American one had apparently been killed too. But that wasn't of much concern to him, or cause of great questioning. He just shook his head. "Bloody Torchwood."


End file.
